


After All

by anr



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-09
Updated: 2009-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not going to think about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: season one  
> SOUNDTRACK: "My Happy Ending" (Avril Lavigne)

_let's talk this over_   
_it's not like we're dead_

  


* * *

  


It's not until after that you realise she's gone.

After the rush, the adrenaline, the nicely-averted-in-overtime almost-apocalypse. After the dying and not-dying and the almost-dying-once-again. After all that... one minute by your side, ordering you to save the day, and the next?

Gone.

You're not going to panic.

"Major Sheppard?"

Beckett. Tapping your earpiece, you turn away from McKay and Zelenka's mile-a-minute victory rehash. "Go ahead."

"I seem to be missing a patient, now that all the excitement's over." The doctor doesn't sound too upset about this fact, but you think you're all a little giddy right now. "I'd appreciate it if you could send her back down here."

"Right." You don't bother to tell him he's not the only one currently missing her -- logically, she can't have gone far -- and instead begin considering the most obvious places. "Sheppard out."

Taking the stairs two at a time, you head towards her office, fairly confident that you'll find her there, logging onto the network before Beckett can confine her to bed rest, but as you hit the landing, the balcony doors slide open and instinct forces you to pause.

"Sheppard! Hey, Sheppard! Do you think Elizabeth will let --"

A quick glance over your shoulder shows you nothing has changed down by the 'gate, and you wave a dismissive hand. "In a minute, McKay."

Stepping outside, you take a moment to check the shadows before finally shouldering your gun. It's dim out, the sun not quite ready to rise, but you can make her out clearly enough, standing near the railing and staring out towards the horizon.

"Beckett wants you in bed."

She laughs.

Your lips twitch into a smirk before you can stop yourself. Shaking your head, you take a couple of steps closer, letting the doors slide shut behind you. "Seriously though. You need to head back down to the infirmary. Let Beckett check you out."

Her laughter stops.

You take another step. "Elizabeth?"

She holds up a hand.

She holds up a hand, and you wait, watching as she looks down, looks at her own hand, turning it over, palm up and then palm down.

"I don't -- everything's still all foggy. Confusing. I remember the probe coming through, and then... lightning? I think?" Shaking her head, she drops her hand onto the railing and steps forward, leaning against the metal support. "It's all vague images after that."

_Good_ , you think. "Beckett's waiting, Elizabeth."

"Tell me what happened?"

For a moment you consider telling her, _no, never_ , but that's a foolish thought, and one you know you can't follow through on. "You'll have my report before the end of the day."

"Thank you, John." She looks over her shoulder and gives you what you think is the beginning of a smile. Before you can return it, she looks away again and lets go of the railing, spreading her arms out and leaning forward.

Startled, you remove the distance between you both quickly, standing close enough for your body to weight hers against the railing should she start to fall.

"Elizabeth..."

She breathes in deep, her shoulders rising and falling. "I feel like -- like I could do _anything_ right now." She laughs again. "Is this what it always feels like? Is this what you felt after P2M104?"

All you remember is pain: a phantom-vice on your neck from the Eratus bug and 200-joules slamming through your ribcage, stopping and starting your heart. If there was something in between, some moment of peace, some glimpse of heaven or hell, well, it wasn't for you to recall.

You shrug, even though she can't see it, and move to place your hand on her shoulder before she can do anything stupid -- like, try to survive a twenty foot dive into the ocean after being electrocuted to death, revived only god-knows-how hours later, and then facing off against an invading force -- and freeze as the image of the last time you touched her flashes through your mind: _in the infirmary, her hand still warm in yours, and the slow whine of the heart-monitor before Beckett turned it off..._

Because of you, she died today.

And not like she sort of did before, when you bought Kolya's bluff and it was true only in his words and in your head... No, this time it was _real_. This time it was, you thought, for keeps, and you're terrified by how that made you feel.

How it's _still_ making you feel...

But you're not going to think about that. Not when there's too much else to consider -- all the ways you could have avoided this, for example, could have stopped that probe from shocking her, stopped those wraith from finding Atlantis...

Shuddering, you pull your hand away and consider taking a step back, her balance be damned, before you do something you're pretty sure you'd both regret. Before you touch her, and don't stop touching her, until you know, without a doubt, that she's okay and always will be.

"No," you say eventually, not quite sure whether you're talking to her or yourself.

You know you can't always be there to protect her -- can't even do it _now_ , apparently -- and it's kind of disturbing to realise now how much you want to.

Not going to think about that either.

You're starting to understand that you don't like to think about a lot of things when it comes to her. And it's not denial -- denial is pretending the sky isn't blue, water isn't wet, and you can't see the point in wasting your time or energy on something so inevitably pointless -- but it _is_ selective thinking and you might be getting just a little too good at it, all things considered.

Dropping her arms, she turns then, pivoting that tight space you've left her, and reaching up to place her palms on either side of your face. Touching you. Framing your features for a kiss that is too sweet, too gentle and much too much. You find the railing behind her and grip tightly, bracketing her, so you won't touch in return.

It doesn't last long. After a moment, she leans back and studies you. Looks through you. You can feel her breath on your chin, can taste her on your lips, and it takes all your strength to keep your hands on that damn railing. "John," she says quietly.

You're breathing too hard again. Breathing like you were when Beckett told you that there was _nohopenochancenomoretobedone_...

"John," she says, and then her lips are on yours again and it doesn't matter that your hands are on the railing because your body is pressing hers back, and her hips are shifting to accommodate you, and the kiss is no longer gentle, no longer sweet, just hard and fast and _real_ and you can feel her tongue against yours and her arms around your neck, her fingernails on your scalp, and --

Not the only one breathing hard now. You pull back to breathe, panting heavily, her forehead against your cheek, and you think, if you could move, you would touch her now.

"John." She looks up at you, lips skimming your cheek as she pulls back, and smiles. "I'm _alive_."

"Yeah," you say. You wish like hell you didn't feel like crying.

She shifts slightly, doing terrible things to your nervous system as her hips move against yours, and you hate that you've gotten so good at anticipating her requests. Without letting yourself think about it, you remove your left hand from the railing, allowing her an escape.

That she takes it just makes you feel like wishing more.

"You did good today," she says, pausing at the door. Your hand returns to the railing. "I'm proud of you."

You imagine you can feel the metal yielding.

You clear your throat and say, "yeah," and don't turn around, not even when the door opens, and closes, and you know she's gone. The sun hits the horizon and to the ocean you say, "real good."

It's almost a shame you'll never think about it again.

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/366574.html>


End file.
